


And they Dig

by DawnsEternalLight



Series: Comfortember 2020 [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blindfolds, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfortember, Confined Spaces, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kidnapping, Nightmares, No editing we die like mne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27381631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: Damian huffed and set to picking out letters and gluing them down onto the paper. He understood why it was him doing this and not the woman. She’d probably have him shove it in an envelope and seal it too. Anything to keep her fingerprints and DNA off the evidence and separate her from this whole kidnapping.It was smart, but it didn’t make Damian hate it any less. He doubted Richard had ever been forced to put together his own ransom letter.Or, Damian is kidnapped as a civilian and forced to wait around for rescue.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Series: Comfortember 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000227
Comments: 21
Kudos: 261





	And they Dig

**Author's Note:**

> Alright! Here is my more hurt than comfort first fic for Comfortember! I hope you guys enjoy it!!

Damian snipped another letter out of the newspaper and let it drop to the dark brown wood of the table. Out of all the injustices he had faced before, he thought this might be the worst. His face had long since stopped burning with embarrassment at the idea, and now all he was left with was anger, simmering in his stomach like the stew bubbling away on the stove. 

He looked up from the newspaper and glared fiercely at the woman sitting across from him at the table. 

She had dark hair, piled high into a semi-fancy bun on top of her head, and wore a masquerade mask over her face, neatly concealing her features from Damian. The mask wasn’t a flimsy plastic one, but something it looked like she’d spent quite a bit of money on, and it covered her whole face instead of just her eyes. It was the same she'd worn at the party she'd kidnapped him from. Though Damian's own mask was long gone.

She tsked at him, “At this rate I won’t ever get my money.” 

“It would be easier to cut these out if I had full use of my hands.” Damian said, raised his cuffed arms as an example, “Or perhaps you would like to help.”

The woman stopped polishing the silverware she had in front of her and smiled not sweetly, but it did not seem cruel either.

“No.” she said, simply. 

Damian bit back a growl and turned back to the newspaper, viciously cutting out a Y. He’d amassed a small pile of letters at this point, each one carefully circled in red by the woman beforehand, preselected as part of her message to be sent to Richard.

Richard who had called Damian’s phone no less than twelve times since he’d been tied to this chair, hands in cuffs, and set to cutting out letters. Damian had watched as his phone lit up with every missed call and all he wanted to do was lurch forward, grab it, and tell his brother where he was. 

He did not for two reasons. The first was that the last time he’d tried that, the woman had slid the phone out of his reach and turned it off. The second was that he’d also received a blow across his face, and it was still throbbing, his cheek cut from a ring she wore. He didn’t care to get hit again over something he couldn’t change.

He had briefly considered using the scissors as weapons, but they were for children, with rounded edges and the blades so dull Damian was having trouble with the newspaper. They’d do nothing for him for defense or offence beyond acting as a blunt object. If he were Robin, he'd make good use of them. But as Damian, they were useless and wouldn't make a good excuse if he did manage to save himself. 

At last, Damian snipped the final letter out of the newspaper. The scissors were snatched out of his fingers before he could think, and a blank sheet of paper was dropped in front of him along with a glue stick. 

“What is this, craft time?” He scoffed. 

“This letter, exactly.” The woman said, ignoring him. 

She placed another sheet next to the blank one and tapped a perfectly manicured nail on it, the red shade of paint over it glinting as it caught the light. 

Damian huffed and set to picking out letters and gluing them down onto the paper. He understood why it was him doing this and not the woman. She’d probably have him shove it in an envelope and seal it too. Anything to keep her fingerprints and DNA off the evidence and separate her from this whole kidnapping. 

It was smart, but it didn’t make Damian hate it any less. He doubted Richard had ever been forced to put together his own ransom letter. 

If he’d hated cutting letters in handcuffs, gluing the stupid things was even worse. At first he tried holding the letter to glue its back, but the chain between the cuffs was too short to do that comfortably. Then Damian resorted to dragging the glue stick across the paper to create a line of purple goop he could quickly stick letters to, but he kept shoving the side of his hand into it when pressing down paper. 

By the time he was done, his hands felt sticky and smelled of the cheap glue so strongly Damian actually considered asking if he could wash them. But the woman hadn't proved herself to be very patient, and he’d been lucky with his craft time quip. He didn't think he'd be allowed something as nice as washing his hands. 

He wasn’t forced to put the letter in an envelope. Instead the woman directed him to leave it on the table to dry.

Damian wondered if he was just going to be left there, sitting at the table until… well hopefully until Batman crashed in to save him or Richard paid the ransom. Damian didn’t want to imagine possibilities where she didn’t let him go once she’d gotten her money. 

“Alright then.” she said, “I’m going to untie you now, and if you fight me, I’ll shove your head against the burner on the stove, alright?” 

That burner had been on since before he’d arrived. Damian swallowed and nodded. 

“Good.” 

She was quick as she got him untied, and stood. Then she uncuffed his hands and moved behind him, and recuffed them snapping the metal tight enough to make him wince. He was then herded through the house, down a hall, and at last stopped in front of a door that she threw open with a flourish. 

The closet was stuffed full. It was tiny, little better than a few feet across and just deep enough for Damian to fit if he squeezed, and that was if it was empty. Shelves ran up the center and one side, packed full of linens. On the ground pillows were stacked against the empty wall, and a large cardboard box rested in the center on the ground. The woman tutted, and let go of him to reach inside and shove the box until it was tucked closer to the wall. 

She turned, and frowned at him before snapping, “Oh! I almost forgot.” She pulled a crumbled blindfold from her pocket and pulled it around Damian’s eyes, tying it tightly so he couldn’t see anything. Damian grimaced, but allowed it. It wasn’t like the closet was going to have any light to it anyway. 

Still, there was hardly any room in there at all, and Damian wasn’t looking forward to being shoved in there. Before he could protest, a hand pressed into his head. Her red nails pressed against the blindfold, coming a little too close to his eyes for comfort, and he couldn’t stop himself from trying to fight being shoved in there. 

“Oh enough of that.” she huffed, and kicked out, catching him behind his knees with the sharp toe of her stiletto. 

He crumpled to his knees with a gasp, and then found himself pushed even lower, his neck bending painfully as his chin was shoved into his chest, and at last he tumbled into the closet, his face smashing against the wall.

Damian was hardly settled on the floor before the door slammed shut behind him, shaking one of the pillows so it fell on his bent back. He heard a lock click outside. 

It was tight in the closet, and Damian bumped his head on the bottom shelf almost as soon as he tried to shift into a more comfortable position. He swore at the shelf and his already aching head. 

Nails rapped on the door lightly before, “Do try and stay quiet, I’d hate to gag you. If my husband finds out about you he’ll want part of the money, and I’d rather not deal with that.” 

This woman really was a piece of work, Damian decided. But he kept his mouth shut and instead tried to be a little more quiet shifting. He too did not wish to be gagged. He despised sticky tape against his lips and how much harder it was to breathe just through his nose. His hands were already sticky and gross with glue, and he didn't want anything else stuck to him. If he had to be kidnapped, he’d rather be as comfortable as possible. 

Keeping his head tucked into his chest, Damian managed to get himself turned so that he was leaning against the pillows. His knees were pressed close to his chest, but if he pushed them into the box, and pushed he could get a little more room by squishing the pillows back. He didn’t really want to keep up that pressure just yet though. He'd do that when he needed to stretch. 

It was a horrible fit, and Damian wasn't looking forward to hours stuck here. He was happy for the pillows. They were far more comfortable to rest against than the wall at least. 

His head throbbed, and Damian tried rubbing his forehead against his knees to make it feel a bit better. It did not work. 

He huffed, and leaned back again. 

While he sat there, he tried to work the cuffs off his wrists. They were tight, but maybe the glue sticky with sweat could help? Or perhaps they were cheap enough that time and pressure could get them to snap. He knew where the front door was and how to get there. If he could sneak out after everyone had gone to sleep he could go home. He just had to get the cuffs off, then he could take off the stupid blindfold, and figure out how to get the door open. 

After a while, he heard a door slam, and the sound of a loud, gruff voice. For a moment Damian froze, forgetting his attempts to squeeze his hands out of the metal and considered trying to get the husband’s attention no matter what the woman had told him. Maybe the guy wasn’t so bad. Maybe he could be convinced to help if he found a child shoved into his linen closet who obviously did not belong there. 

Then the man started screaming, and Damian heard the sound of things crashing as the woman joined in and he decided very firmly that he did not want that man figuring out he was here. He pressed himself a little closer to the pillows and hoped the guy had zero interest in anything in here. It all seemed like extra supplies anyway. 

The yelling calmed down after a while, and Damian was left in silence again. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there for, but between tiny shifts of his feet, and trying to keep his hands awake by squeezing one of the pillows behind him, he was feeling really warm and tense already. 

The closet was tight and tiny and _stifling_. 

He hated it. 

Hated that his chest rattled with fear thinking about getting caught by the husband. Hated that he was made helpless when normally he could handle what waited for him outside the close. Hated he couldn’t get these stupid cuffs off. Hated that he had to _wait._

 _Waiting_ . He hated that more than anything else. He tried not to think about how long he was going to have to be in here. If the woman was hiding him from her husband he’d likely be stuck for the rest of the night and next morning. At least until the man went back to work. And that was _if_ she bothered to let him out for a bit. He might be stuck here until Richard paid the ransom. 

No, he'd probably be let out at least once before then. She’d given Richard a day to start collecting the money, promised a check in phone call, then three more to get the money together. The time frame was comforting because it meant she did actually want the money, but Damian wasn’t looking forward to waiting so long. He was confident she'd let him out when she called Richard. His brother would demand proof of life. But the other three days? To say being stuck in here that long would be uncomfortable would be putting it lightly. 

Damian pulled his knees back into his chest, releasing the pressure he’d put on them to stretch and closed his eyes, it did little to change what he saw, but that didn’t matter. The pillows were soft. Some were more cushions than pillows, but the ones on top, where he’d leaned his head, were real fluffy pillows. 

After a few moments, Damian let himself drift, and at last he fell asleep. 

He dreamed of fire first. Of the house catching flame and the heat licking at the locked door, teasing its way under to catch Damian’s shoes, and the end of his coat that had flopped onto the floor. Of how the heat was more than suffocating at this point, how it crawled up his arms and legs and--

He tried to push himself away from the fire, but there was no room. No space to move. 

Then the pillows opened up and sucked him in. Like Clayface, rising up to suffocate him in thick horrible clay that clogged his throat and lungs and pressed on him with such pressure he couldn’t breathe. 

He tried to kick his way up, and out of the flood, only to see that horrible woman standing above him, her arms wrapped around Richard’s shoulders the way she had at the party. Her bright red lips pressing to his cheek as she kicked out at Damian, knocking him back further and further into the clay--

And he shot awake, his head banging the bottom of the shelf again with enough force to spark tears in his eyes. 

He wanted to go home. 

Damian curled his toes in his uncomfortable dress shoes. He’d even be willing to go back to that stupid party if Richard would just come for him now. Not that the party was still going on. He was pretty sure it was long over at this point, even if it hadn't been called off to search for him.

He leaned forward, and let his head drop against his knees, his hands curling up behind him. His shoulders ached. And his eyes were still itchy with the need for more sleep behind the blindfold. It was late, he knew that much. 

The charity party Richard had dragged him to had started at 6. Early for a party, but not too early for a weeknight. Damian had been there an hour at most before that woman had tried to lure Richard away and Damian had intervened. 

He’d thought he’d been distracting her, and giving Richard time to get away. Richard had thought the same, shooting him a thumbs up as he’d melted into the crowd. They had both been wrong. She’d leaned down to pinch his cheek and Damian had allowed it. Allowed her to get close enough to prick his neck with a drugged ring. He wasn’t really sure how long he’d been out after that.

Damian had to admit it, the woman was smart, and well prepared. She’d snatched him like a pro, had left no evidence on the ransom letter, and probably had a solid plan both for the phone call and eventual trade off. 

Still. Richard could find him. Damian believed he could. He was Batman after all. Even masks and well laid plans couldn’t stop his brother. Damian had learned that much in his year with the man. And if for some reason he couldn’t? Richard would pay the ransom. He didn’t have to worry about that. 

At least Damian hoped so. 

Shame bubbled in his chest. This was not his first kidnapping. What if? What if Richard was tired of him getting caught? What if he was tired of bleeding money for a kid who couldn’t stop getting kidnapped? Damian was supposed to be Robin. He was supposed to be someone Richard could count on. How could he do that if Damian kept finding himself in situations such as these?

No. He couldn’t think that way, Richard _loved_ him. He’d told him so a hundred times. Richard wouldn’t give up on him for this. He was sure. 

His certainty eroded more and more the longer he sat there. Damian couldn’t fall back asleep after that nightmare, no matter how warm it was. 

It was tight. And hot. And his chest ached. 

And then the door opened, and cool air rushed in, letting Damian breathe. A hand grabbed his arm and dragged him out, then to his feet. He stumbled as legs that had long ago fallen asleep tingled and buckled. 

“Honestly.” The woman sounded exasperated with him. 

She tugged him up so he was mostly standing. 

“Behave.” she snapped, as if Damian could do anything about the fact that he’d been shoved in a tiny closet for hours.

Then, without waiting for Damian to answer or find his balance, she dragged him down the hall and shoved him back into the chair he’d been in the previous day, at least he thought it was the same chair. One of her hands pressed tightly into his shoulder.

“Don’t move.” 

She stepped away from him for a moment. Damian rolled his shoulder trying to shake off the lingering pressure. He really wished she’d take off the blindfold, but he figured that was staying now that he had done everything she needed him to do that required sight. 

The hand dropped back onto his shoulder, lightly this time.

“Your brother’s phone number, then silence until I say you can speak again.” 

Damian rattled off the number, and pressed his lips closed. He didn’t have much information he could give Richard anyway. All he’d really learned was the existence of her husband, he still had not seen her face, and he’d been unconscious when he’d been brought in. 

“Richard Grayson?” the woman asked. 

There was a pause. Then she hummed. 

“Hold on.” 

Damian heard the beep of a phone being turned onto speaker mode, and felt the heat of the woman as she leaned by his ear.

“Say hello.”

“Hello?” Damian asked. 

“Damian!” The relief in Richard’s voice washed away every single doubt Damian had let inch its way into his mind over the course of the night. 

“Richard.” Damian answered, relief of his own tinting his voice. 

“Are you alright? Has she hurt you?” Damian could hear the genuine worry in his brother’s voice. 

“I’m--” Damian said, and then snapped his mouth closed as the woman’s hand tightened on his shoulder. 

“Damian?” Richard asked. 

She squeezed his shoulder so tight it was painful. 

“You’ve heard from him, now let’s talk about that ransom. You’ve got three days to get things together. I need--”

“No,” Richard sounded angry, “I still don’t know if he’s alright.” 

Damian wanted to tell him to stop. The hand in his shoulder was squeezing so tight now, Damian gasped. 

“He was.” the woman said, voice sickly sweet, “But you’re not listening, and I need you to _listen to me_.” 

The pressure of her fingers let up long enough for Damian to hear the phone set on the table, then metal against wood as something was lifted.

He knew something was going to happen before it did, and braced himself. Then pain lit his arm on fire as the woman dug a blade into his shoulder. He winced, but didn’t say anything, then she dragged it down, from his shoulder all the way to his elbow, the pressure growing and he couldn't help but gasp in pain.

When it hit his elbow she paused for a moment, pressing the tip deeper into his skin and twisting it so it scraped against bone. He couldn't help but cry out against the pain. He tried to jerk away, but her other hand was wrapped tightly around him, pressing him against the chair. He hoped she’d stop, with that noise but the blade slipped further dragging all the way down until it finally hit the cuff around his wrist. 

At last, the blade lifted, and he realized he was sobbing. He gasped as her hand dropped against his shoulder again. 

“There we go.” she hummed, as dimly Damian heard Richard’s voice yelling. 

Those nails bit into the cut in his arm as she squeezed. Damian yelled as pain flared again. His arm ached. And he couldn’t see it. Couldn’t see if she’d really injured him or just cut deep enough to make it hurt. 

“Ask him to be quite.” The woman said, her fingers squeezing tighter, nails digging deeper. 

“ _Richard_.” Damian whimpered. 

The phone went silent. 

“Listening now?” 

Richard was apparently too quiet because the hand squeezed again making Damian sob. 

“Yes.” Richard snapped, voice furious. 

“Good.” 

Damian let their voices fall in the background as he tried to catch his breath. His arm throbbed under that woman’s hand, and the stupid blindfold was wet with tears. He wanted to get a hold of himself in case he needed to answer something again, but apparently negotiations were going better now because eventually the pressure on his shoulder lifted. 

He missed the end of the call, he was so focused on the pain in his arm. When the hand on his shoulder sipped down to grab his arm and drag him back to his feet, he couldn’t help but yell and try to get away again. A hand smacked the side of his head, and he stilled, trying to blink away stars against blackness. 

“That’s enough of that.” She told him, “You should be happy. Your brother’s promised to get me my money even faster now, so you won’t have to wait as long.” 

Damian didn’t really care about that. His ear was stinging, and his arm throbbing, and all he wanted was Richard here _now_. Not in a day or two or however long it was going to take him. He held onto the fact that his brother had sounded furious, and hoped that meant Batman would be here tonight. 

When she started dragging him back down the hall Damian tried to dig his feet in, panic suddenly welling up in his chest. He didn’t want to go back into the closet. It was small and hot and he was hurting. And he hated the idea of being pressed close again and having to go back to waiting. 

The woman only yanked him with more force and practically dragged Damian back to the closet, tossing him in like a lump of potatoes when they reached it. His arm screamed as he landed against the shelves, and he was blind with pain as the woman shoved him down to his knees again, and back in the hole he’d been stuck in before. 

“My arm!” he cried as the door slammed shut again. 

“It’s fine.” the woman sounded exasperated, “Just a cut.” 

Damian didn’t think it was. Not with how it throbbed and ached, but he could already hear her heels disappearing back down the hall, and he was left alone in his thoughts. 

The dark and the tightness was worse this time. Damian knew the wait would be longer. Knew he wasn’t getting out until the ransom was ready, and that could be days still.

He tried to focus on Richard’s voice from earlier. To tell himself Batman was coming. That Richard’s promise to be there sooner had been a message to Damian. That he'd figured something out and was on his way. That he’d be out of this closet and home soon.

But the hours ticked by and the closet was so tiny, it was all Damian could do not to cry with frustration. 

At last, he drifted, exhausted and tired, and aching. He wasn’t quite sure how long he sat there, but it was long enough his stomach was just about yelling at him for missing so many meals. 

He was close to dozing before a door slammed and made him jump and hit his head again. It was apparently the wrong thing to do, as sudden heavy footsteps approached his little closet. 

The air felt good for a moment, then a hand, larger and more callused than the woman’s grabbed him by the hair and dragged him out of the closet. Damian yelled, as he felt something in his scalp tear as his feet kicked out at the ground to try and relieve the pressure. 

“What the hell! You grabbed the Wayne brat?!” the man roared, dragging him down the hall by his hair. 

Damian wondered if his kidnapping had made the news. It wouldn’t surprise him if it had. It wasn’t often they were taken from such public gatherings anymore.

The woman’s voice started screeching, and Damian couldn’t quite make out what she was saying over the way his head was now roaring. Then she grabbed his hurt arm and Damian yelped. He was being pulled in two directions, and they were both yelling and it felt like everything hurt and--

Glass shattered somewhere. The hand in his hair dropped, and Damian slumped. He would have let himself fall, if he hadn’t been dragged over, and into a thin chest, that stupid spindly hand still on his arm. He tried to kick out, but the woman’s other hand grabbed his neck and squeezed, Damian froze, and she let up just enough to push him forward. 

He could hear a fight going on, the man yelling at someone. Batman maybe? Hope that his brother had come flared in his chest and Damian didn’t fight being moved closer to the noise. 

When the woman swore and tried to back up, Damian stomped on her foot as hard as he could. She yelled, but didn’t drop him like he wanted. Instead her hand squeezed his neck tighter, strangling him. 

Someone, _Richard?_ Roared, and then the hand was gone from Damian’s throat, and the arm holding him dropped. He stumbled forward, hoping to get out of the way and tumbled to his knees, then down to his side and stayed there, trying to catch his breath. 

Around him, the room stilled and went silent. 

Then, after a beat, he heard a cape, and, “Damian?” 

Hands lifted him, then the blindfold so Damian could blink up at Batman. It took a second for his vision to clear, but he clearly recognized the worried twist of Richard’s lips. He leaned forward so Richard could reach his hands behind him to uncuff them. 

The moment the cuffs were off, Damian threw himself into Richard’s chest, seeking out the hug that was going to come anyway. Arms wrapped around him, and he felt a light kiss press into his hair. 

“I’ve got you.” Richard murmured. 

His brother scooped him into his arms, and Damian allowed the coddling. He was tired. _Exhausted_. And the last thing he wanted was to walk on legs still jellied from sitting so long. 

It was easy to relax in Richard’s arms, he was safe. He had come for Damian, and he would not let anything else happen to him. So Damian let himself snuggle a little closer to his brother as he listened to Richard radio in a tip on the kidnappers to the police, and inform them that Batman was returning Damian home. 

He was exceptionally glad Richard was skipping making him wait for police and hospitals. He wanted to be home. In his own bed, with some painkillers and Richard fretting by his bedside. All things that would take too long if he had to wait through answering Gordon’s questions or suffer through convincing the paramedics he would not go with them until someone in his family arrived. 

Damian let himself fall asleep for real when Richard settled him into the car. He came to much later, as Richard was lifting him off a cot, changed from the suit into a hoodie that was soft against Damian’s cheek. 

He shifted, and found a bandage wrapped the length of his arm, and frowned sleepily at it. It wasn’t hurting at least.

“It’s not too bad.” His brother said, “Little more than a scratch in a couple places, but she really got you good by your elbow, you needed a couple stitches.” 

“I know.” Damian grumbled, “That’s what made me yell.” 

He looked up to find Richard frowning at him. 

“What?” 

“Nothing, I’m just sorry I didn’t hit her a bit harder.” 

Damian smiled, “It is the thought that counts.” 

Richard scoffed but didn’t respond beyond squeezing him a bit tighter. 

Neither of them spoke again until Richard had settled Damian into his bed and against his own pillow. 

“Sorry.” Richard told him as he reached out to brush bangs from Damian’s head. 

“For?” Damian had almost nodded off again, safe with his brother there, but Richard’s tone made him shake himself awake. 

“I let her take you.” 

Damian shook his head, “Neither of us expected her to be looking to kidnap anyone.” 

“But I let her be alone with you, and I shouldn’t have. We should have left together.” 

Guilt twisted in Damian’s stomach for ever doubting Richard would leave him with that woman. He pushed himself up, and threw his arms back around Richard’s neck, ignoring the slight twinge in his hurt arm at the movement. He squeezed tightly, then pulled back so he could look his brother in the eyes. 

“You came for me.” he said, “And that is all that matters.” 

Richard leaned forward so their foreheads were pressed together, and promised, “I will always come for you.” 

And Damian believed him. 


End file.
